


Tales of the Dream SMP

by darkmattermilk



Series: Dream SMP oneshots [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Dream Smp, Minecraft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:27:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27666787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkmattermilk/pseuds/darkmattermilk
Summary: Wilbur’s eyes danced across the engraved stone, the shaky letters spelling out such a beautiful song. However, the dance was broken as he took a wrong step, eyes tripping across the word was. Oh how that was such a silly mistake, to say that in the past tense. Like that special place isn’t there anymore.He could make it not there....To try and make this seem more attractive to someone just scrolling through a tag (hi!), I'll update the above to what I believe are interesting/good examples of my writing, as to try and make this more clickable..? Enjoy my collection of random one-shots, I kinda try kinda don't sometimes.(I also want clout :D )
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Clay | Dream & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), No Romantic Relationship(s), Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Series: Dream SMP oneshots [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2177223
Comments: 13
Kudos: 30





	1. An Unfinished Symphony, Forever Unfinished

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh how he had cried about losing his great unfinished symphony. Who was he kidding, L’manburg was never his. So that’s why he would like to keep his vision of L’manburg as strictly his unfinished symphony, a memorial to show that he orchestrated this big mess, which had caused so much pain and death and panic and sadness and war and-
> 
> And something to give reason to end it all.
> 
> \---
> 
> In pure desperation for control over his version of L'manburg, Wilbur decides that the only way it can ever truly be his if it wasn't there anymore. Like any sane person, he blows it up to assure himself and everyone else that it was to be forever his unfinished symphony.
> 
> I apologize if I wrote Wilbur's character a bit confusing, as I tried to embrace that crazy mindset of someone losing themselves. It's why he confuses a few characters with each other, and his thoughts jump all over the place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I apologize if I don't write the tw correctly, I'm still learning)
> 
> TW:
> 
> Major Character Death 
> 
> Thoughts of harming others(?)

Maybe Tommy saying it was all talk set something off in him. As those warm blue eyes- can cool colored eyes even be warm- looked down as happiness seeped into the younger's voice.It’s not like he could blame him, the country they had fought endlessly for was finally safe, out of the clutches of Schlatt.

But was it really what Wilbur wanted? To lead not only others but himself on in this vision of a blown up L’manburg, like it was after the Dream smp war? What good would it do? To have a blown up country, for no reason?

Wilbur couldn’t help but grow the seed of doubt as Tommy called him up to the podium. As he slowly made his way, he couldn’t help but notice the chair, or what was practically a throne, at the top. Images of Tubbo exploding in such pretty and vibrant colors ran through his tormented mind, making him pause on his words. He glanced at the obsidian flag, of which his own son had made after burning the true flag down. Fundy was now sitting in anticipation, his eyes glowing like they had after they won the first war.

This nation hadn’t seen a day where it had true peace, with no threats of war. Actually, It was Wilbur’s fault they had even had this war, all because he wanted self security in knowing that everyone liked having him as the president. So now they were hopeful, in the fact that it wasn’t all blown up, and that they had won.

“I want that flag taken down- our flag isn’t black obsidian, its yellow, black, red, white, and blue!” Cheers sounded around and he looked down at the citizens, something sinking in his stomach.

Oh how he wanted to see them all die, for not electing him back in, for making him lose his fucking mind. He forced a weak smile as if he was sad for what he was about to say. “But I, however, cannot be your president either. Techno’s ideals have rubbed off on me- government isn’t as good as it seems. It would be a bit hypocritical to lead something when I myself don’t stand for it.”

Almost complete silence filled the battle scarred landscape, besides Technoblade’s small cheer for anarchy. Wilbur scanned the crowd, his mind falling apart as he succumbed to the need to press the button, to wave it all goodbye formally. He just had to choose someone, anyone now, and to get it over with.

“Tubbo I want you to be president of L’manburg.”

The younger looked up in surprise, shakily getting to his feet after a nudge from Tommy. He made his way up the podium, and Wilbur left the stage for him.  
What a quaker like character Tubbo had become. Sure he wasn’t religiously inclined but he wanted peace for the country, and wanted to include everyone. And how Wilbur wanted to strip that away from him. To force Tubbo into the stress of leadership, to cause chaos and well, anarchy. Sure, he didn’t want to blow up Tubbo’s version of L’manburg, but even the idea of peace at this point made him want to vomit.

It wasn’t until he was facing a stone wall that he realized that he had walked away from the meeting. What a zombie he had become, it was quite humorous. It really felt like he really wasn’t in control, that he had truly become just a mere vessel for Dream’s visions of chaos. Face to face with destiny was where Wilbur had placed himself, right inside that cold and dark room, the only light leaking through from the tunnel.

He just wanted to see what happened when he touched the button. Last time, there was nothing. No boom, no cries of pain, no death. Really, his mental state scared himself too. Looking back, he could just sense how the blackness inside his mind had poured a vision of blood into his eyes. The dim cold room with words of an empty anthem etched onto the walls, offer him a sense of false security in his sanity. But who was he fooling, about sanity? He let out a laugh, which echoed throughout the hollow room.

He wanted to press it, to make Phil proud, to be the younger brother Techno would favor, to give Tommy something to build up. If it was all blown up, it wouldn’t be his L’manburg anymore, and if it wasn’t his anymore, it could never be finished! Oh how he had cried about losing his great unfinished symphony. Who was he kidding, L’manburg was never his. Tommy was the main character, which is why it was his now. So that’s why he would like to keep his vision of L’manburg as strictly his unfinished symphony, a memorial to show that he orchestrated this big mess, which had caused so much pain and death and panic and sadness and war and-

And something to give reason to end it all.

Wilbur’s eyes danced across the engraved stone, the shaky letters spelling out such a beautiful song. However, the dance was broken as he took a wrong step, eyes tripping across the word was. Oh how that was such a silly mistake, to say that in the past tense. Like that special place isn’t there anymore.

He could make it not there. The power he held made him shake with unhinged laughter. He could strip everyone away from his L’manburg, could keep it his special place, could kill off all who wanted it. Just a single press of the button and that single past tense word would become true, as a blown up country isn’t that fucking peaceful is it?

His eyes grazed the wall until they landed on that stupid little wooden button that jeopardized everything he had built, including the final threads of his sanity. The world was shit anyways, it wouldn’t matter if he were to accidentally slip and hit the button and melt away with the chaos? Everything he had built the country for was gone. The people didn’t need him, his ideals had shifted.

Hand hovering over the button, Wilbur shook with anticipation. To have an annoying ringing in his ears as the blast pushed him back, to have bits of stone fly and to have vision clouded by smoke. It was so easy to imagine, and even easier to make a reality. All he needed to do was press the bu-

“What are you doing?”

Thoughts thrown to the side as a familiar and almost comforting voice broke through the storm of thoughts. What was he even thinking about? Was, Tubbo, button, Tommy, president, Dad..?

“P- Phil?”

“What are you doing?”

His crazed eyes cast to the shadows of the room to find the voice, to see where it was coming from. “Phil where are you?”

“I’ll be there shortly.”

“Huh? Phil- I wasn’t doing anything! We just made Tubbo president, and we won the war! Schlatt’s gone, Schlatt’s gone, it’s all great here.”

“Uh huh. So you are… Where exactly now?”

The last piece of Wilbur sunk between his morals and urges. So close to pressing the button, his fingers merely centimeters away from pushing it. He could choose to lie to the very person who had raised him, or he could come clean and tell the truth.

He could become a disappointment.

“I’m in L’manburg- the area- you wouldn’t know- I don’t think you’ve been here before. It’s the area around L’manburg.. It’s complicated! It’s geography and that you know- geography and stu-”

Someone clearing their throat echoed through the empty chamber, stopping Wilbur in his track. Words scrambled as he froze, looking over his shoulder, speechless. He couldn’t help but let out a shaky laugh- how he must look to his father. Purple bags under his eyes from countless restless nights, messed up hair from being pulled on constantly, and that crazed expression held in those dark eyes.

“Phil.”

“Mhm. In L’manburg, you said.”

Wilbur’s scared eyes darted across the mildly concerning room, resting on the button before resting back on Phil. “T- This is L’manburg…” He let out a defeated sigh, mind running millions of kilometers* an hour.

Philza would be proud of him, he’d make him proud. “Okay, I will admit… Do you know what this button is?”

“I do.”

The crazed and sleep deprived man took in a shaky breath of the cold and crispy air, finally the atmosphere sinking in more and more. Was blowing up a country he had spent so hard trying to get back really a good idea? Even if it wasn’t his anymore, the effort of getting it back should make Philza proud, right?

“Have you heard the song? I carved them into the walls- have you heard it before? I was just thinking in this mess of a mind about how it says was and not is and it made me think about how it could not be there anymore and make this verse true like its implying-”

“Wil it is there you just won it back.”

A nonexistent twig snapped in Wilbur’s mind, looking up sharply with the most desperate expression ever. For he was just reduced to a man with no morals, with nothing to live for besides the destruction he practically sold his sanity for.

“Phil I’ve always been so close to pressing this button and-” He cut his own scream off, falling against the wall, head in hands. “Phil I have been here, seven or eight times-”

His distracted, distraught, and distant brain registered the footsteps above, and he frantically pushed Phil away from the tunnel. “They are going to try and stop me-” He cut himself off as he pushed the tunnel supports down, a loud rumble followed by the collapsing of the soil closing in complete almost darkness, the faint glow of glowstone offering just enough light to see the figure of his father.

He sighed, looking back towards the glorious button that separated him between good and evil, as a protagonist or an antagonist. But why would it ever matter? It’s not like Wilbur Soot was ever the main character anyways. Like come on, Tommy stole everyone's spotlight and Techno and Dream had the whole antagonist thing in the bag. So did Schlatt, but he was killed off.

Maybe Wilbur would be killed off if he became the antagonist.

That offered him relief, as if death was the only way to release him from the insanity that had taken over. Death could be a way to get the old Wilbur back, the one that would spar with Technoblade, bully Tommy, strive to please Phil, raised a son by himself, started a country, and was the perfect leader possible.

“Phil, I’ve been here many times before. I’ve pressed the button before, even, but there was no redstone connected.” Wilbur realized something as he said those final words.

He really didn’t want Schlatt dead, he didn’t care what Schlatt had done. If anything, Schlatt having control of Manburg made it easier to blow it up. The only reason he had decided to join the war was out of bitterness, as the old man had cut off his redstone, ruined his plans, and hindered the explosion of the fucking country-

“Do you really want to blow it up?”

He sighed, falling against the wall, his shaky legs unable to support him and his mental state anymore. “I think I do, I think I really want to blow it up.” It came out as something barely more of a whisper, further proving that he had lost it.

“You fought so much to get this land back..” Phil approached his son, gesturing for a hug.

“I don’t even-”

“You fought so hard”

“I don’t even know if the button works anymore Phil I don’t even know. I could press it and it might not even do anything.”

Wilbur was wrapped in the warm embrace of his father, head instinctively bowing down into the older's shoulder. Philza rubbed circles on his back that made him just want to curl up and shrivel like a rose, and cry. Just cry until the fucked up world was gone, cry until he was back when he was little, playing in the sun with Techno.

“Do you really want to take that chance?” Phil’s soft voice murmured in his ear, triggering the fact that he did want to press the button.

How could he respond to that? His own father didn’t seem keen to the idea of blowing it up, and that’s coming from someone who raised Technoblade, the self established Blood God- though he did earn that title

“There’s a lot of explosives potentially connected to that button.”

Wilbur pushed back- only slightly, as to make sure Phil kept petting him in that comforting way he did when he was a child.

“Phil… There was a saying by a- uh a traitor, once part of L’manburg- a traitor.” He took in a shaky breath, the realization of his own words haunting him. He really wanted to die and be done. He wanted to be sent to the firey depths of hell just to escape the trauma that was repeating in his head- watching as his country was blown up, watching Tommy get shot by a fire, watch a he was pushed to the background and lost his own election, watched trapped inside his own mind as he pushed away all morals and ideals and replaced them with one goal:

To make sure no one else could have his L’manburg.

“I don’t know if you heard about Eret?”

Phil paused, looking Wilbur in the eyes. The stare from his father sent shivers down his spines, that knowing flare in his eyes almost making him want to stop. “Yea?”

He managed a shaky laugh to break the tension, eyes flicking across the poorly lit walls, to the engraved anthem of the fallen, soon to be blown up nation. “He had a saying,  
Phil.”

“It was never meant to be.” Wilbur pushed away from Phil with such force that he hit the wall by the button, and he hit it with his fist, eyes squeezing shut with so much relief as he heard the explosives go off. He began sliding down the wall, all feelings numb, but was tugged away and held carefully away from the explosion.

He really couldn’t hear much around the ringing in his ears, and the smoke in his eyes. So the broken, empty shell of himself just lay limp and cowering in his fathers arms as the world started detonating in front of them. Sunlight danced through the smoke, as if to welcome them back to the outside world, away from the depressing hollow of the room.

As soon as the bombs stopped going off, they started talking again.

“Oh my god Wil, it’s all gone.”

Wilbur shakly got up, his numb body perfectly matching the crazy look in his eyes. It was if he had finally become fully one mindset, not many thrown together. He let out a satisfied exhale, wild eyes looking across the field of stone, water falling from where it once pooled.

“My L’manburg, Phil! My unfinished symphony! Forever unfinished, forever to be mine! If I can't finish it, no one can!” He whipped back around to face his father, eyes grazing the carved walls.

As his eyes passed over the wall, the names made him stumble. There were two T names, Tommy and Tubbo, not just one name.

He had mixed them up, forgetting in the process that it wasn’t Tommy’s L’manburg, that it was Tubbo’s. And honestly, He didn’t want to destroy Tubbo’s L’manburg, he had planned to blow up Tommy’s, as a sort of memento to further say that he’ll never be president.

That thought only triggered more guilt. The fact that he had left everyone with a terrible leader like Schlatt, lost his mind and became useless, wanted to kill everyone who mattered to him. The guilt crashed over him like a tidal wave, drowning him. But when he resurfaced, he saw what he was afraid of.

What he had become. Wilbur had one personal rule and that was to never lose himself in the process of what he was doing, because then it wouldn’t be him doing it. It would be someone else with a different mindset and new goals that didn’t match his own

He turned to his father with what he was sure was the most deprived look possible. “Phil, kill me.”

Wilbur had deprived himself of his own life.

“What…?”

“Stab me, murder me, please just fucking end me all ready.” His voice shook as another overwhelming wave of guilt threatened to knock him down.

“I can’t do that, you're my son.”

“Have you seen what I just did? I blew up everything I worked towards, I hurt people I used to love.” His eyes blurred, and he stumbled towards his father, unable to walk properly.

“You don’t love any of them anymore-?”

“I lost myself, I’m not the same Wilbur that was your son. Please don’t let me live with this, I don’t want to see the mess I made.”

“Wilbur no matter what you do-”

“Please.” As the older looked down on his son, he saw that he had started crying, though the smile of a man with no use was still painted on his face. It really showed how much pain he had been in, and that death was the only way he could see out of it.

It must have been heartbreaking, to stab one of your children to try and offer them internal peace, to stop the internal turmoil and conflict they had been dealing with alone. Wilbur fell to the ground, coughing up blood as he smiled softly up to Phil. His breath grew shallower by the second, the sword through his heart sweeping his life away.

“Thank… You…”

With that the infamous Wilbur Soot had let out his last breath, falling into his father. The sword was removed as Phil grabbed the body of his son, cradling his bloody body, silent tears slipping down his face. He rocked what he still saw as the sweet little boy, trying to offer him as much peace as possible.

When the fighting ceased, everyone could look up and see a father holding his son's dead body, crystal tears practically illuminated as the sunlight glowed with the blood of the dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *THESE FUCKING BRITISH PEOPLE AND THEIR SMART METRIC SYSTEM IS THAT EVEN PART OF THE METRIC SYSTEM IDK??
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this, as I'm planning on writing a much longer fic on Wilbur's descent into madness. It'll start from him announcing the winners of the election, all the way past his death to offer a peak in Ghostbur's life and his memories!
> 
> Also hope you guys are enjoying the SMP plot as much as I am :D


	2. Chess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The person sitting in the throne lazily stretched an arm to the board, picking up a piece that looked like a man in a beanie and a coat. He brought the piece closer to his mask, before flicking his wrist, casting the piece to the depths of the dark room, where it shattered, fragments joining those of other broken pieces.
> 
> \---
> 
> The puppet master of the SMP plans their next move in the ominous room, absorbed in their own laughter that bounced right back at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: 
> 
> None I don't think
> 
> (I mean maybe Dream's massive dumptruck may be a TW, It managed to get his speedrun unverified)

Darkness hid the surrounding to be coherent shapes, unfocusing everything not covered in light. Well, maybe it wasn’t completely dark, just the lack of color in the materials that the walls were built in. It still didn’t explain the feeling of being in a void while in the room, only a small table and chair visible in dim light. The dim yellow light filtered through smoke that seemed to only add to the eerie state, dust particles floating like paranormal orbs.

The table and chair weren’t ordinary either, and added to the atmosphere in its own odd way. The chair was really a throne, which was adorned in precious minerals, rivaling the beauty and stature of royalty. It gleamed under the light, making the gold and emerald shine, casting even more yellow and green across the room. The green was complemented by the person lounging in the throne, who leaned against the arm and legs crossed on the table. A porcelain mask with an etched in smile covered their face, and a lime green hood shadowed the white surface. A mask lay under the smile, which completed covering any facial feature.

In front of the mystery person was the table, which was long and a deep brown, fit to be found in a castles dining hall. Resting on the table was not food, but a sheet of glass with checkered squares of black and white. Normal chess pieces were not found on the board, however, and no other person was present in the room. The only other entities were strung from the dark ceiling, mere puppets hanging with strings tangled within each other.

The chess pieces were glass with lights on the bottom to illuminate them, all resembling people, none of the same. While one piece looked like a man with a bandana tied over his head, another appeared to be a woman holding a loaf of bread. The person sitting in the throne lazily stretched an arm to the board, picking up a piece that looked like a man in a beanie and a coat. He brought the piece closer to his mask, before flicking his wrist, casting the piece to the depths of the dark room, where it shattered, fragments joining those of other broken pieces.

They continued playing with the chess pieces, pushing one that resembled themself to the front of the board, pushing those of smaller- and presumably younger- people on either side of them. Their glow was shadowed by something that wasn’t visible, while the man dressed in lime laughed, pushing his back against the throne. While absorbed in their own giggles, a snap echoed in the room and a puppet came crashing to the ground. They picked it up, tucking the fluffy brown hair under the beanie, fingers tracing its stomach area. In a jerk of their hands, the head was torn off, clattering to the ground, while the body was flung at the opposing wall.

As they slipped into hysterical laughter once again, above two puppets were pulled apart, heads bowing limply with the lack of support that they once found in each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried playing around with more of just a sensory setting, to try and paint a picture of what the room looks like, while keeping in mind that it needed to make a story with it. Overall, I don't think I like this as much as some of my other (unreleased) works, but that's what practice is for. 
> 
> I also tried to keep they/them pronouns for Dream in this to add to mystery, as even though we all know its the green man, it's supposed to mask who it actually is in a way. Very confusing, but I hope that makes sense.


	3. Melting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now here he was, seven years old, huddled on the floor, reduced to shivering.
> 
> Like any child succumbed to the harsh world, he cried.
> 
> \---
> 
> Ranboo, as helpless as ever. A little head canon of mine that'll be described more in the end notes, so that it's out of way for those who don't care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: 
> 
> None

This unknown world was cruel to the young boy.

Sure, he had definitely felt cold before. In the early stages of feeling the void take over him, it was freezing. But even though it was cold enough for ice to form on his fingertips, his body had seemingly lost all senses and he didn’t feel the cold course through his body. Sometime after that, he had been taken to such a warm place, and he could finally feel.

The only difference from the cold unfeeling to the warm feeling was that he himself had changed. It was a weird experience, from what he could remember. He didn’t remember what actually happened, but when he could think clearly for the first time in his life, he was split. The familiar void of his own skin still was there, but remained on the right side, the left having been eaten away by a white.

Warm air hugged him and the red fire illuminated the world in such a fascinating way that he could only watch in awe as fire danced. It was taken away all too soon, however, when these strange beings popped out of thin air.

And now here he was, seven years old, huddled on the floor, reduced to shivering.

Like any child succumbed to the harsh world, he cried.

At first it came easily, and felt good to have a physical reaction to all his pain. Very soon though, burning started, and he frantically grabbed at his face to try to stop it. The stinging surged through his face, and when he took a second to look at his hands, they were covered in black and gray liquid becoming marble. In pure desperation, he grabbed a fistful of his shirt and shoved it in his face, stuffing his eyes to try and stop, to please stop the god awful pain.

Ranboo felt so guilty.

He had to watch as Tubbo exiled Tommy for something he had also done. It wasn’t fair that only one of the teens was receiving a punishment, and it made thorns grow around his heart. Each moment they squeezed, and for a second he realized that he wanted to cry, to release pent up emotions.

Sitting down by a fire inside his house, Ranboo tried to distract himself, to forget the feeling of watching someone take all the blame for his sake. But the once comforting flames didn’t warm all of him, and he was reminded of not having any way to feel normally in his right side. Before he could think, Ranboo was crying, sitting on the floor as his eyes stung. He scrambled to get his memory book, to write down the guilt that was physically hurting him. Black globs dripped off his cheeks, blurring the ink, wrinkling the page.

He hated being so helpless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So my head canon basically is that when Ranboo cries, he starts to melt. It's not enough to kill him as his body has fast regenerative properties, but it's very painful. Because as he is confirmed to be half enderman, I thought it would be interesting how emotions would impact the idea that enderman can't directly interact with water or fire. 
> 
> Also, I decided that just for this the other half of Ranboo is a ghast, which is a nether mob. Because they would produce higher body temperatures, I feel that their tears would melt to their face basically, which is seen on their texture. Ghast have always seemed like they are crying with no tears, so I just took it because of the heat of the nether. 
> 
> To answer why Ranboo can act like a human- If you've watched Matpat's minecraft game theories, enderman are just corrupted humans, so I believe that something could have happened for Ranboo to regain his mind process. 
> 
> Anyways sorry if theres grammar errors or something, i dont edit my work because im fucking lazy <3


	4. Establish Order

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “But I’m sick of this, I’m sick of having no order, I’m sick of having nothing in L’manburg. And if you are going to go as far as to call me.. To say that I’m committing treason. You sound just like Dream right now. Put your foot down. You are the president, and don’t let anyone step over you, Tubbo."
> 
> \-----
> 
> From todays stream, where the festival failed and lead to doomsday. I think the conversation with Quackity impacted Tubbo's character a lot because not only did they mention killing Ranboo, but Big Q went over the flaws with the government, and instead of staying to resolve them, he left.
> 
> Remember when Tubbo told Ranboo that he was like Schlat, because everyone keeps leaving him? This only adds onto that, but he has a goal to resolve the issues to make L'manburg a peaceful place again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW:  
> Implied PTSD (ig?)
> 
> Not much in this chapter actually, just Tubbo and Quackity talking
> 
> *Also keep in mind this is mainly just dialogue practice as it seems to be a point in writing that I suck at.

“What’s up Quackity?”

“I want Ranboo dead.” 

The young president blinked, shoulders sagging a little bit more. He really did look tired and defeated, only reminding the older that this position was too much sometimes. The day had been eventful- way to eventful. The festival they had planned to murder Dream ended up with obsidan walls, a blown up house, and fighting. Now, they were planning for doomsday, with just a tiny bit of hope that they can save their home.

“Ranboo…?”

Fire sparked in the secretary's eyes. “This fucking traitor- He conspired against us! How can he preach about loyalty when- Tubbo, we need to get him executed.” 

Tubbo’s head was slurred with the events of the day, any adrenaline and energy wasted on fighting with his best friend, and gone as he was degraded in front of what seemed to be the whole world. “You want to… Execute Ranboo?”

“Of course I do! He preaches about loyalty and then goes behind your back and helps the enemies- Technoblade’s only goal is to take down the government!” 

He sighed, completely overwhelmed by the heat behind Quackity’s words. He flipped open a leather book, skimming over the pages. Words blurred together and scrambled in his defeated head, and he looked back up. 

“Please keep in mind that Ranboo has poor memory, it’s why he has a book in the first place.”

“You can’t keep making excuses for traitors Tubbo! Poor memory doesn’t just… Void a conversation with Technoblade!”

“He may forget what side he is on.”

“Forget what- Are you being serious with me? Are you not sick of traitors? I’m tired of people coming into this country, gaining your naive trust, and then pushing you around, only for you to allow it! Ranboo is another traitor.” A shaky laugh left the older, and he pushed hair underneath his beanie, pulling on the collar of his shirt. 

“That’s all he is! I don’t want people betraying us- or betraying you! Do you remember what Dream told you? Shit like this cannot keep happening! We have to execute him, make an example, show our authority, and plant our roots! We cannot be continuously pushed around, be the ones out of control!”

Rubbing his eyes, Tubbo followed Big Q’s gaze and watched as Ranboo was being surrounded by the crowd, his voice rising by the minute. 

“What do you want to do with him- Is not just locking him up enough to satisfy you? Execution seems-”

“-We have to kill him.”

“Well to extreme for this…” His voice trailed off, and if Quackity really was fire, then he was coughing in the smoke currently. 

“It doesn’t matter, we can’t let this keep happening to you..”

“So if I were to agree to this… absurd idea- Which I won’t- Where do you even suggest we execute him at?”

“I- I don’t know- I just want him dead! It doesn’t matter where- Hell it could be in the town center for all I care!” Quackity’s endless pacing stopped, and he came face to face with the small president.

Tubbo’s eyes had gone unfocused, losing himself in the sea of memories that he was able to piece together. Cold, yellow, colors, burning. Screams that he couldn’t even recognize as his own. Was he being told that someone else had to live that fate, to go through the hell that came afterwards. Ranboo was probably physically weaker, the enderman in him making him vulnerable to water and fire.

“This is just going to be history repeating itself…” Something ignited in him, causing his voice to rapidly become just as aggravated as the others, if not more. 

“He decorated that festival; He will be murdered.. in his own decorations.” The president walked closer, pushing his cabinet member further towards a wall. 

“Does that not sound familiar to you? Doesn’t that sound like, I don’t know, Like it has happened before? Can you- Can you not- I don’t know if It’s just me that remembers that. Do you realize that maybe that has happened under someone else's administration, someone who we swore to never be like?” 

“Maybe- Maybe you know... Why don’t we blow him up with a rocket launcher? Maybe that will get the cogs moving in your head a little bit. If you execute Ranboo, Big Q, that will be treason.”

Quackity was now against the wall, the small president fuming. “I- You- Are you..”

“That will be treason.” He repeated, feeling slightly bad for having cornered his secretary. His raised voice gathered a little bit of attention by the crowd, though most were still focused on Ranboo. Still, his heart pumped, and rage coursed through every limb in his body. He grabbed onto his askew tie, straightening it. 

“Tubbo-”

“Dream said it himself! You have been more of a president-”

“Tubbo.”

“-Than me! It’s because I know what it feels like to be the-”

“Tubbo.”

“-Traitor…”

“Tubbo, listen to me, listen to me. You need order- that’s the issue with L’manburg, no one is taking order! Who the fuck is taking control right now? Tommy is! Because maybe you weren’t ever going to fall into your role.”

“I don’t agree at all with what Dream said, but Tubbo, we have to put our foot down. We have to actually have god damn order in L’manburg. I want what’s best for the country, that’s what I wanted since the very beginning. Tubbo, if I didn’t want that, I wouldn’t have ran, I wouldn't have ran! I wanted to be president Tubbo, I wanted to do something good, Tubbo.”

They had both lowered their voices, hearing shouts echo out of the fortress as the part endermans ideals were exposed, as if he had no shame for not caring about sides. Quackity sighed, and he took his beanie off, running a hand through his disheveled hair. 

“Forget- Forget about Ranboo, Tubbo, forget about Ranboo.”

The younger nodded, eyes cast to where the shouting was coming from.

“Think about what Dream told you. Think about what he told you, Tubbo. We- We have nothing. I’m so glad, I’m so glad that everything that’s happening right now is happening the way it is. Because… Because Dream..” Quackity let out a shaky laugh.

“We are going to fucking kill Dream, man.” He recomposed himself, all nervous laughter gone.

“But I’m sick of this, I’m sick of having no order, I’m sick of having nothing in L’manburg. And if you are going to go as far as to call me.. To say that I’m committing treason. You sound just like Dream right now. Because Dream said the exact same thing to me.”

“Do you know what Tubbo? I’m sorry. I’m sorry but… I’m out. I’m out of L’manburg.”

“You’re… out..?” 

Quackity kept on speaking, pushing through with his reasoning. “No matter what happens to L’manburg, I’m out. I can’t commit treason… If I’m not affiliated with L’manburg.”

“You aren’t going to touch Ranboo though.”

“I’m not going to touch Ranboo, Tubbo. But what I’m trying to get through your thick skull is that we need to fucking establish order-  _ You _ need to establish order. Tubbo, whatever happens in the future, whatever happens you need to…”

“Well in twenty-one hours you have to keep in mind that there might not even be a future… For L’manburg, if we don’t pull this off.”

“I wanted to take this with you Tubbo. Put your foot down. You are the president, and don’t let anyone step over you, Tubbo. I’ve been trying to put this in your mind for such a long time. You are the president, Tubbo, you are a figure of order, of- of… You are a figure of authority.”

Quackity turned around to look at where the traitor was looking over the crowd, yelling at all of them to try and get his point through, to try and show them his look on things. To look at where the world was turning against the tall boy, looking up as he tries to prove a point, to try and show his innocence. 

“Look at… Look at.. I don’t know what’s going on Tubbo, but it should be you up there, speaking to them. They are looking at Ranboo right now, it should be you speaking to them. I- I’m tired of you not having order over your land. Take this with you.. I’m out of L’manburg.”

“You’re still a great friend, just please establish order..”

“You too Big Q, you've been by me this entire time, and I- I would not want anyone else.”

“I’m still going to fight against Dream for doomsday, to try and save your country. But Tubbo, I can’t commit treason if I’m not part of L’manburg..”

Quackity put his beanie back on, fixing it over his hair. “You are the president, don’t let anyone fucking step over you- Don’t trust anyone, don’t trust Ranboo, your best friends, only trust yourself. Don’t even trust me, don’t trust your cabinet members. Trust yourself, and yourself only. Don't take light to the role. I know it must be awfully hard to do it at your age, but I believe you can grow to be the best president ever if you take hold of the reigns by yourself.”

The words ghosted Tubbo’s lips, falling out as a little more than a whisper. “I understand Quackity.” he backed away from the former secretary of state, trying to start the habit of not getting close- not trusting others. 

“Also… To conclude, it was wonderful working under you Tubbo.”

“You were fantastic as well Big Q.”

“There’s so many things you need to fix.”

“If all of this goes as planned… It will be fixed. It will be written.”

“I’m… I’m going to stop putting expectations on you, you already have enough to deal with already. Go into that fortress, and take control.”

“Thank you, Quackity.”

The former cabinet member walked off, back in the direction of El Rapids, probably to prepare for the war coming in the next day. Tubbo took a deep breath, ears ringing with the pressure of the situation. He gently pushed his way into the crowd until he was in the front, everyone going silent as he requested their attention. 

Today was too much of an eventful day. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wonder how doomsday will go, especially with the wild card of Ranboo's character right now. In my opinion, he can switch to either side of the war, though I believe he won't fight at all.


	5. Feather Falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Well…” Ghostbur’s voice wavered, as if weighing options. 
> 
> “You had an accident, and now you’re on vacation to help readjust!” 
> 
> “..Accident?”
> 
> Tommy could feel the phantoms of his wings, as if they were still there, as if he hadn’t lost them. He hugged himself to try and recreate the lost warmth, sobs overtaking his weakened body with the loss.
> 
> \---
> 
> AU In which Tommy has wings, but when Dream exiles him they are cut off. I was given permission to use @kvaughanarts (on tiktok) general idea for this, so go check them out as they inspired this story ^^

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW:   
> Violence   
> Suicidal thoughts
> 
> Also, I am now cross posting with this on Wattpad! @darkmattermilk
> 
> And for future updates/hints on any future projects, my twitter is @darkmattermilk as well :))

Phantoms of feathers hugging the boy send him into another fit of tears, into another round of coughing. Blood splattered from his raw throat, and he looked up to where the translucent figure of his older brother was. Just like it was when he was younger. 

Yellow sweater, a beanie, and fluffy hair that was constantly being played with. Wilbur was just learning how to play the guitar when he had first cried out in pain. Despite the awful feeling, he smiled at the fond memory from years ago. He remembered the pins and needles, and how it quickly became a burning pain. It didn’t compare to the pain now, that was tearing away bits and pieces of him. The pain from years ago added onto him, and made him who he was now.

His bleary eyes refocused on the world around him, acutely aware that it was now sideways. Someone's gray fingers were snapping in front of him, echoing despite the lack of walls. 

“...My…. Tommy… Tommy!” 

The sixteen year olds only reply was a grunt, any more effort to use his voice may have put him in more pain. 

“I need you to drink this, okay? You can do that for me, right?” The voice, oh the voice almost sent him back into the spiral of nostalgia. He remembered that voice singing songs for him, and how the wind had carried it across the field. 

Something cold was pushed against his lips, and when he once again had gained a grasp of reality, he noticed the vial of bright pink. It was tipped into his mouth, some of what he couldn’t swallow trickling out the corners of his mouth, onto the green grass.

The grass was pretty when you could see it from above, where it was white in ripples when the breeze ran through it. Up high, clouds would hug you in a mist, and the blue sky would offer comfort. Tommy remembered the way the sun would heat up his back, warming him up from the chill of the rushing air. 

Oh how Dad didn’t like when he didn’t wear jackets. He had claimed that they didn’t do well up in the air, above the rest of the world, and refused to wear them. In return, he had to deal with the cold air, and would often come home shivering. 

“Tommy? Tommy, stay with me.” 

“Wil...bur…”

“Yes Tommy?” The pale figure leaned closer to hear the whisper of his brothers voice, and suddenly Tommy felt as if he was thrown back into life. 

Wilbur was dead, and Phil had killed him. The image of a younger, teenage Wilbur shattered in his head as Ghostbur- the gray, forgetful spirit replaced him. And oh shit, his back was hurting, a lot.

“W- What happened…?” A cough rattled his body, and man did it hurt, spasms of pain shooting up his spine. 

“Well…” Ghostbur’s voice wavered, as if weighing options. 

“You had an accident, and now you’re on vacation to help readjust!” 

“..Accident?”

The ghost sighed, eyes flicking to anywhere but his younger brother.

“Your wings, Tommy.”

Realization hit him, exploding his thoughts into an incoherent storm. A scream shook his body as he failed to flex his beloved wings, in which he had soared pridefully through the skies in. 

He remembered his initial reaction when he was told he was sprouting wings, much like what his father had. Tommy was excited, eager, but above it all, he felt such pride. He, unlike his other siblings, was going to be like his father in some physical way despite not being biologically related. He remembered his imagination skipping at the thought of being able to fly with Phil, to be able to feel the wind in his feathers like Phil could. 

And now that very same pride and joy was being ripped from him, no longer there to brag about. Having been strengthened by the healing potion, the boy attempted to get on his feet, though found that without the familiar weight of his wings, he couldn’t balance properly. As if to test that they weren’t really there, he tried so hard to stretch them, to try and unfurl his full wingspan. Nothing besides sparks of pain met his feeble attempts, and he couldn’t even escape into the curl of his light gray feathers, which had graced his life since he was younger.

Tommy could feel the phantoms of his wings, as if they were still there, as if he hadn’t lost them. He hugged himself to try and recreate the lost warmth, sobs overtaking his weakened body with the loss.

  
  
  


The first time Tommy had encountered a high place was in the nether. It had been nearly a week since he had gone on vacation, and since then he had relearned how to walk, though he hated how he couldn’t just fly above the earth.

He had been looking down into a lava lake, watching as the orange danced across the surrounding walls. Fire shot up, rejected from the rest of the lake- which is much how he had felt. No one was coming to visit him, and he didn’t understand why he couldn’t recover with his friends. He was sure that Tubbo couldn’t go a day without coming to him for something, but lo and behold, it had been a week already with no one besides his dead brother and Dream. 

He hadn’t expected the urge to jump, to soar in the nether to play with life and dodge the spitting lava. Only did he stop himself when he didn’t feel the humidity ruffle his feathers, and feel a hand on his shoulder that seemed to warn him. He looked over his shoulder at the masked man, who quietly ushered him back through the portal. 

  
  
  


The first time Tommy realized that he wasn’t on vacation came two weeks on his trip, when Ranboo had given him a secret note. When he had asked Ghostbur about what it meant, the forgetful spirit momentarily forgot the cover up story and told him flat out about what happened. It had explained why no one had visited him, and why he wasn’t recovering amongst friends and family. 

It was then he realized that his only real (and alive) friend was Dream, who hadn’t left his side for one day. 

  
  


The first time Tommy realized something wasn’t right was when Dream ordered for him to throw his belongings in a pit. Confused, but trusting his only friend, he had put his items in the pit- armour, weapons, anything tactically useful to him. Ice had coursed through his blood along with panic as he heard the hiss of TnT, resurfacing memories of a blown of L’manburg.

Then, not only did Tommy cry in Dream’s arms about the TnT scaring him, he cried about not being able to see the country that had affected his mind.

  
  
  


The first time Tommy realized that Dream wasn’t his friend was when he had told him no. No visiting L’manburg, no seeing his old friends. He was convinced that the masked man was all he needed, and for the moment, he seemed content with that.

  
  
  


The first time Tommy felt truly lonely was at the beach, when no one but Dream showed up to his party. It was like there had been no invitations even sent out, and his sourness stuck with him.

  
  
  


The second time that Tommy was in a high place was also in the nether, where he teetered dangerously at the edge. A dark swirl in his mind didn’t even allow the warmth of Dream’s companionship in, a hollow voice telling him the friendship wasn’t real. It was like he had no friends then, as no one else was visiting him. 

He was taunted about the christmas tree, and was told to stay put as excited cheers warped through the portal to him. Just that once, Tommy had thought about what falling without wings would feel like, and what the scorching of lava actually felt like. Dream had appeared a second later, telling him that it wasn’t his time, in which the emptiness he was feeling answered for him. 

  
  
  


The second time Tommy realized Dream wasn’t his friend was when he blew up his home, his valuables, and everything he had ever wished to keep possession of. The tent that had been housing him, the log fortress, his portal; everything was blown up. He was yelled at, told to start anew until he could learn his lesson. He remembered being yelled at for not needing anyone else, that he didn’t need Tubbo, or any other friends. 

Tommy didn’t even feel guilty for keeping secrets. 

  
  
  


The second time that Tommy felt alone is when Dream had left him to collect his thoughts. He was alone in the dead silence of the middle of nowhere, with no home to comfort him. He had sat in the soot and wondered what the point was.

  
  
  


The third time Tommy was on a high place, it was the highest he had ever been in the overworld without wings. He was carefully looking across the empty blue sky, wishing it could all end then. He didn’t want to feel lonely anymore, he didn’t want to feel useless. 

But as he fell from the heavens, he decided he loved life too much and fell into the safety of water.

He still had obligations to this world. 

  
  


Cold air wrapped around him, causing Tommy to tremble as he made his way through the snow covered taiga, feet leaving prints in the white powder. His clothes weren’t ideal for this temperature, being in ripped jeans and his iconic shirt. No coat, so nothing to isolate his body heat. There he was, a defeated sixteen year old wandering through the forest to a random cottage. 

  
  


Frostbitten blue hands grabbed the ice touched tree, and he let out a huff. A cloud of hot air warmed his flushed cheeks, and he looked longingly at the distant cottage, standing tall in the flat tundra. It wasn’t a good idea to travel out in the open with no warmth; the wind would surely freeze him to the ground. Plus, the numbness in his legs had made him dependent on the thick forest, using trees for stability as he walked in circles for what seemed like years. 

Pushing off the tree, he stumbled out into the expanse of white, freezing wind taking him by surprise. His vision blurred as snow was thrown into his eyes, a flurry of the small crystals blocking the cottage from view. He slipped on a patch of invisible ice, the world tilting, 

And tilting, 

And tilting,

Until it was sideways and pitch black. 

  
  


\----

.. - .----. ... / ... --- / -.-. --- .-.. -.. .-.-.-

/ .. .----. -- / ... --- .-. .-. -.-- .-.-.-

/ .-- .... -.-- / .. ... / .. - / ... --- / -.-. --- .-.. -.. ..--..

/ .. .----. -- / ... --- / ...- . .-. -.-- / ... --- .-. .-. -.--

\----

.-- .... -.-- / .. ... / .. - / ... --- / -... .-. .. --. .... - ..--..

/ .. .----. .-.. .-.. / close / - .... . / -.-. ..- .-. - .- .. -. ... --..-- / ... --- .-. .-. -.-- .-.-.-

/ - .... .- -. -.- / -.-- --- ..- .-.-.-

\----

\--. --- --- -.. / -- --- .-. -. .. -. --. --..-- / - .... . ... . ..- ... .-.-.-

/ .-- .... -.-- / -.. --- / -.-- --- ..- / call / -- . / - .... .- - ..--..

/ -... . -.-. .- ..- ... . / -.-- --- ..- / .- .-. . / hero, / -- ..- -.-. .... / .-.. .. -.- . / - .... . ... . ..- ... .-.-.-

/ .. - .----. ... / - .. .-. .. -. --. .-.-.-

/ .. / -.- -. --- .-- .-.-.-

/ .. .----. -- / - .. .-. . -.. .-.-.-

/ --. --- / - --- / ... .-.. . . .--. --..-- / - .... . ... . ..- ... .-.-.-

\----

... ... -.. - .. .... -. .... --.. -.-. ....- -...-

/ .. / know.

/ ... -..- --.- --. .- .... ...- -.-- -.. .... -- ..-

/ .. .----. -- / ... --- .-. .-. -.-- .-.-.-

/ ...- ..--- .... ..... / can’t / .. / speak / -.-- ..--- -..- .-.. -.-- -..- .--- ... . ... -... .... -... -. .-.. - -... ...-- .--- .-.. .--. .-- -...- -...-

. . . . . .

\----

The weak tundra sun leaked through the window, cascading the loft room in warm golden hues. Tommy sat up on the bed, one hand propping him up, the other holding his head. The world was spinning, black spots breaking his vision. Groaning, he flopped back down, bed creaking under the sudden shift. 

On top of him was a familiar red cloak, keeping him warm as he lay staring at the ceiling. His memories were scrambled, he hadn’t felt like he had been awake for a while. Everything before this moment seemed like a dream, simply unreal. 

He spiraled back into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't the complete idea, so if you guys like this please do say :)   
> I'll write a part 2 then, but if not I left it open ended

**Author's Note:**

> Allow me to try and advertise like a YouTuber:
> 
> Before you click off this, could you maybe click the kudos button? It really helps motivate me to continue writing knowing people enjoy it, and it also boosts the story so other people can read it! If you don't have a account, that's okay, but I recommend making one to read things such as locked stories, and so you can support your favorite writers! 
> 
> Also, subscribe(follow?) if you enjoy my writing, as I plan to make much better and longer stories with a genuine plot!
> 
> (i feel like a sellout but its fine i watch technoblade)


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